


Enough

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Conflicted Qui-Gon, Drama, Kind of Reformed Anyway, M/M, Permanent Injury, Pining, Reformed Xanatos, eventual graphic sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 18:19:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16959114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Qui-Gon catches up with his old Padawan, Xanatos. Xanatos decides to catch up with Qui-Gon’s newest old Padawan, Obi-Wan.





	Enough

“And the days are not full enough  
And the nights are not full enough   
And life slips by like a field mouse  
Not shaking the grass.” -Ezra Pound

————

He had not expected to see threads of silver nestled among ebony, such simple proof of _age_. Of course, he did not think Xanatos was old enough for grey hair. 

“I am surprised the Council would send you here,” his old apprentice remarked, looking down at his wine glass. “Given our...history.”

Qui-Gon smiled at the obvious euphemism. “Things are different now. We are not exactly given the opportunity to pass over assignments. And Anakin is keen to visit every planet in the galaxy, so.”

Xanatos lifted a manicured brow. The subtle music in the cafe swelled and retreated around them. “Ah, how could I have forgotten. Someone told me Kenobi killed a Sith and was Knighted. That must have been a nice change,” he said, succinctly, and took a long drink. “The Knighting, I mean.”

Qui-Gon studied the familiar features, touched by the passage of years, fine lines and yes, grey hairs. But Xanatos’s eyes remained a startling crystal blue. 

“And where is your Padawan now?”

“Anakin is back at the hotel. He’s still dumbstruck by the slightest amenities. I’d be surprised if he’s even noticed I’m gone yet.”

Xanatos laughed, setting aside his glass. “I meant Kenobi. It must be difficult adjusting to a new shadow.”

“Anakin is keeping me busy. Obi-Wan is...doing well, I’ve gathered.” He had given away too much already. In his defense, he didn’t usually drink. Or talk to Xanatos. 

The younger man caught on immediately. Amusement skittered along the Force open between them. “He was always your perfect follower. I’m sure whatever bitz bug that’s crawled up his ass will eventually find its way out again. Although he’s so uptight, the poor thing probably doesn’t stand a chance in there.” 

Qui-Gon drained his wine and sat back. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

Xanatos shrugged. “Old times and all that. And maybe I was a bit eager to show you I’ve reformed. Mostly.”

“The Council told me as much.” Qui-Gon cleared his throat, watching a couple walk out the door, pressed close together. “Is the rest of your night spoken for?

“Only by you, my Master.” Xanatos signaled for the check.

———

Xanatos kept private quarters in a high rise on Telos. The lift opened into the living area. It was rather plain, duracrete walls and spare furniture. A small painting hung by the window. 

“My father was the one who insisted on opulence.” Xanatos poured two glasses of wine. “I kept his liquor collection but nothing else. I realized I had no interest in amassing more wealth.”

“Just power, then?” Qui-Gon quipped from the sofa. 

Xanatos walked over, steps fluid and silent. Graceful like a dancer, a warrior.

A Jedi, Qui-Gon observed, and let the well-worn sadness wash over him. 

Xanatos handed Qui-Gon a glass and sat beside him. “I think every man desires some measure of power. Isn’t that why you killed my father? You worried you were losing your power over me?”

Qui-Gon vaguely wondered if the wine was poisoned. He took a test sip, but tasted only the refined notes of berries and spice. “I don’t believe I’ve ever truly held any power over you, Xanatos. I would not have killed your father if I had been offered any other choice.”

“Time has changed me, because I believe you, my old Master.” Pale, slender fingers extended, to rest on Qui-Gon’s knee. “He was a dangerous man. Since his death, I’ve come to understand who my father really was. His life is not one I wish to emulate...nor his death.”

Qui-Gon looked into the vivid eyes he remembered from so many years together, how they had once flashed with excitement, joy, reverence...then hatred. He had stopped hoping he would see those eyes, untainted, again. He smiled, feeling something shift in his chest. “I am most glad to hear it, Padawan.”

Miraculously, Xanatos smiled back, without a trace of ire or resentment. 

They sat together and with wine and words tried to fill in the dark spaces of their histories. Xanatos spoke of the sabbatical that helped him break away from Offworld, his successful infrastructure model work and surprising foray into charity efforts. Qui-Gon in turn gave an abbreviated account of Naboo, and his unexpected role as mentor to a slave boy from Tatooine. 

Xanatos was leaned back against the sofa, legs crossed, finishing his third glass. “He sounds like a handful. But that’s your pattern, isn’t it? A quiet Padawan, followed by an unruly one.”

Qui-Gon snorted. He was drinking slower than his companion but still felt the loose burn of alcohol behind his temples. “I don’t recall _any_ of my students being all that shy or retiring. Except perhaps Feemor.”

“Nah. Kenobi’s always been the model little Jedi. He must be the model little Knight now, apple of the Council’s eye.” 

“He always does his best.” Qui-Gon said. “And it seems you’ve been doing the same here.”

Xanatos waved dismissively. “I don’t think I’ve ever done my _best_ at anything. Perhaps if I had things would be different now.”

Qui-Gon looked up at him. “How would you want things to be different?”

Xanatos studied him for a long moment before smiling. “It hardly matters. Just a general wistfulness.” He brushed a strand of black hair out of his eyes. “And what about you? Is there anything you’d like to be different?”

Qui-Gon glanced away, out the wide window, where the Telosian sky provided its own silken darkness, embedded with burning white stars. The wine was leaving a stale film on his tongue now. “I doubt there’s anyone in the Universe without a few regrets.”

“Only a few?” Xanatos pressed, leaning forward.

Their thighs were touching, separated by the cloth of their trousers. Xanatos smelled slightly of cologne. Qui-Gon straightened. “I should let Anakin know where I am.”

But Xanatos stilled Qui-Gon’s hand as he reached for the comm on his belt. “I’m sure he’s asleep by now. Even rascally Padawans need their rest.”

Qui-Gon used his finger to trace the pink, puckered skin on Xanatos’s pale cheek—the crescent-shaped scar. It had healed years ago but would never fully disappear, this branding of their final, bitter rift. “My personal pattern seems to involve disappointing my students.”

Xanatos laughed softly, remaining beneath Qui-Gon’s questing touch. “Whatever it is, he’ll forgive you.”

Qui-Gon outlined the rest of the face with his eyes, comparing it to memory, committing it to new memory, the curves of a finely boned jaw and full lips, because he supposed he would not have reason to see him again, after tonight. “Do you forgive me?”

“Funny,” The other man answered, tucking Qui-Gon’s hair behind his ear. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

At some point it had grown darker in the room; unobtrusive amber radiated from inset lights along the ceiling. Qui-Gon could hear the random din of air cars outside, and then the beat of his heart, in his ears, thrumming in his throat. 

“Why did you ask to see me, Qui-Gon? Just to be sure I’m not secretly torturing orphans?” 

Qui-Gon folded his hands in his lap, glanced down at his own laced fingers. “Anakin and I were already here, and I wanted...I’m not sure what I wanted.”

Xanatos lifted his bearded chin in his fingers, and kissed him. His mouth lingered over Qui-Gon’s, so that Qui-Gon breathed in the reply: “Maybe you didn’t know _then_ , but you came back here.”

Xanatos kissed him again, and the rare sensation of that intimacy, the cologne, the warmth of a body against him, stirred Qui-Gon’s loins. But his heart was not in it. He could not return the gesture, even as his body tensed and vibrated in anticipation. “I’m sorry.”

Xanatos withdrew. Perhaps that was the greatest indicator of his growth—the fiery pupil Qui-Gon remembered would have raged at such rejection. He sensed nothing of that, save a tendril of fleeting disappointment in the Force. Xanatos slipped a cigarette from the folds of his black tunic, lit the end and inhaled. “Me too. I never figured out how to be a Jedi, but I haven’t figured out out how to _not_ be one either. No one seems to grab me.” He gave a rueful laugh, shaking his head. “To my everlasting surprise, I need more than a willing body.”

“That is no flaw.” Qui-Gon squeezed his shoulder. “I want you to know that I’m proud of what you’ve accomplished here. My heart will always have a place for you. It always has.”

Xanatos gave him a cigarette, and because he didn’t want to turn him down for a second time, Qui-Gon accepted it, held it to the offered flame. 

“Is your heart with him?” 

Qui-Gon watched the smoke drift and curl. “My heart is my own. He has a place there along with all my Padawans. As it must be.” He was being sloppy. He didn’t care. He doubted Xanatos would be contacting the Council about anything he said. Nor would they be much inclined to _believe_ the fallen Jedi.

“Must be? Have you abandoned your maverick spirit in your old age?”

“I try not to. There was a...conversation between us. A proposition was made but, “ Qui-Gon took a drag from the cigarette, held the rich heaviness in his chest as long as he could before slowly releasing it between his teeth. “Ultimately the obstacles were too great.”

“Told you. Tight ass. But maybe that’s why you propositioned him in the first place.”

Qui-Gon ignored the crass comment. “Nearly dying on Naboo changed things.” In a way, he felt like they had never left that place or that time. 

“I’d do things to you that he wouldn’t dream of.” Xanatos said, and went into the kitchen.

Qui-Gon’s eyes followed him, but not his heart. 

——-

Xanatos woke after dawn with a crick in his neck. Qui-Gon had left, as expected. The apartment felt quieter, more still, after those unexpected hours of company and promise. He sat up gingerly from the sofa and picked up one of the glasses from the table. 

It had been Qui-Gon’s. He would have known, even if he had come across it sitting among a hundred others in an anonymous bar. Xanatos swallowed the dregs and leaned back, thinking.

———

He had not been to Coruscant for years. Galactic City was awash in light and energy, though to Xanatos it still smelled vaguely of sewage—an improvement over the aromas that greeted him as he stepped inside Dex’s Diner.

A droid waitress bobbed over to him. “Aren’t you a sight for synthetic eyes. You wanna booth, handsome, or a seat at the counter? I’d get more looks at ya there.” 

Her tinny voice faded as the Force brightened, flexed. 

Kenobi. 

Xanatos lowered his hood. At a booth in a far corner he saw him. His palms were sweating, which was strange and ridiculous. He wasn’t intimidated by Jedi. Not Qui-Gon Jinn and certainly not Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

He stopped in front of the table. “I like the beard. It makes you look at least fifteen.”

Kenobi looked up at him, but made no attempt to rise. “It’s been too long, Xanatos.”

“Has it?” Xanatos slid into the booth, avoiding a crusted blob of some sort of artificial red condiment on the padded plastic bench. 

“No.” Kenobi responded in a clipped tone. 

Xanatos smirked. “Where did you get that stuffy accent from anyway? Qui-Gon doesn’t sound anything like that.”

“And where did you get your penchant for betrayal? I suppose some things shall remain a mystery.” Kenobi’s presence in the Force was tightly contained, tighter even than his smile, a reserved and sober light. “I don’t have a great deal of time, if you could get to whatever point you might have.”

Xanatos’s gaze flicked downward, and he noticed the other side of the booth was missing its bench. “Is that a—?”

“I’d prefer not to talk about it.” Kenobi interrupted. “If you’re here to issue me tiresome threats, do so quickly. I have work to do.”

Xanatos studied Kenobi’s face a little closer. “That’s not what I do anymore. And if I did, I wouldn’t waste them on _you_.”

“So you wanted to meet to insult me?”

“You’re just so _charming_ ,” Xanatos drawled, shaking his head when the waitress approached with a pitcher. He leaned over the table. “Even without that pretty red braid.”

“I’ve always said we have nothing in common,” Kenobi said. 

The welp seemed so _proud_ of himself. And that’s what Kenobi was, beard and Knighthood and all. Just a welp who lucked into everything, though it appeared that luck had not spared him completely from the random cruelties of fate. “That’s not true, Obi-Wan. We at least have a Master in common. That links us, well, forever, doesn’t it?”

“Does it?” Kenobi countered with that snotty lilt in his voice, “The last I knew, my Master disowned you.”

Xanatos let himself marinate in the sweetness for a moment before saying “We just shared a rather interesting night on my home world. He didn’t say anything about disowning me. He didn’t act like he hated me, that’s for sure.”

Kenobi was trying to appear impassive, but a muscle near his left eye twitched. Dumb Jedi. Any half-seasoned interrogator would notice something like that.

“So the two of you have reconciled. I still don’t understand what that has to do with _me_ , or why it warrants this particular reunion. He was your Master, but I was merely a child who got in your way on a few occasions, years ago.”

Xanatos motioned to the hover chair. “Is this why you turned him down? Afraid you wouldn’t be able to keep up with him? Or maybe you’re mostly droid parts down there now? I’m not a healer, but—“

“Obviously,” Kenobi said sharply, drumming his fingers on the smudged tabletop. “But I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t need to play coy with me, Kenobi. Qui-Gon told me.” Xanatos was reformed, but he was still satisfied by the surge of embarrassment in the Force, the sudden pique in Kenobi’s complexion. “I don’t know why he expected anything else from you. You’re the kind of Jedi who recites the Code in his sleep. But I’ll let you in on a secret: you can still be a Jedi even if you seek some harmless pleasure every now and then.”

Kenobi smoothed his beard. “While I appreciate the pep talk from a disgraced reprobate, you are not telling me anything I don’t already know.”

“Then why wouldn’t you—“

“I would. You seem to be mistaken.” Kenobi corrected him softly, and his grey eyes fell. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be taking my leave now. I am pleased you’ve stopped trying to kill me and my Master.”

Xanatos watched him float away in the chair, the waitresses and patrons parting as he passed. He followed Kenobi out the door and into the busy midday streets. 

“He didn’t tell me about the chair.” Xanatos called. “He said your Naboo assignment was treacherous.”

Kenobi continued on the route to the Temple, smoothly avoiding other pedestrians, gaze fastened ahead of him. Xanatos glanced at his legs, clothed in the typical uniform and boots. 

“They’re useless.” Kenobi said. “Like those silly bowls of decorative fruit. Just for show.”

Xanatos bit back his instinctive jibe. Kenobi was, what, twenty six? A brand new Knight in his brand new hoverchair. The person Xanatos used to be would have relished in that pain. But he was not that person anymore, not quite. “The Universe deals some shitty hands.”

“And legs, apparently.” Kenobi deadpanned. His hair was grown out from the apprentice style, the nerf tail undone, lost in a thick auburn shag that ruffled in the wind. 

“I understand being upset about that, but he saved your life. You could have taken pity on him _once_. He’d realize what a boring prude you are and move on.”

Kenobi suddenly whirled, the chair humming beneath him. “Take pity on him? Do any of your new ventures on Telos involve sniffing adhesive? If you traveled all this way to dangle my failures in front of me, you’ve accomplished that. I’ve never done anything to you that you didn’t instigate, so let me be.”

Xanatos noticed several bystanders surreptitiously looking in their direction. What a picture he must make, upsetting a young Jedi in a hoverchair in the middle of the sidewalk. “How is rejecting Qui-Gon a failure on your part? Seems more like a choice.”

Kenobi frowned, leading Xanatos to a recess away from the crowd. “I didn’t reject him.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Not that it’s any of your business, but you’ve got it backwards. I asked and he….did not accept.”

Xanatos’s hands dropped to his hips. Well, that was unexpected. “From the way he acted, I assumed you were the one who…”

Kenobi smiled, but with an undercurrent of sadness. “He is the one who. But that was months ago. He’s busy with his new apprentice and I’m assisting in the Archives while the healers and Council evaluate my abilities. Life moves ever forward.”

Xanatos ran his finger along his lower lip. “Does it work?”

“That’s even less of your business.” Kenobi huffed, the hoverchair turning.

“I’m staying nearby. Only tonight. My flight leaves early tomorrow.”

The other man looked back at Xanatos, over his shoulder. “Good to know.” He muttered.

Xanatos took a few steps forward. “It could be good, if you wanted.”

Kenobi laughed. “So I’ll just trust that your intentions are pure and you’re not going to skewer me as soon as we’re alone? Not that I’m interested in the first place, but I’d be at a slight physical disadvantage should you decide to...be _you_ again.”

Xanatos continued walking, the staccato click of his boots echoing as he closed the gap between them. What had he told Qui-Gon? He needed someone to grab his attention? He looked down, and Kenobi was already looking up at him, craning his neck, hair lit by the afternoon sun. “I didn’t say my intentions were _pure_ , Knight Kenobi. But that’s not what you’re looking for, is it? From my experience, saintly types like you crave...well, types like me.”

“Who says I’m craving anything?” Kenobi shot back, stressing his graceful enunciation, sitting up straighter in the hover chair as if it were a throne. 

“Shavit, Kenobi, _where_ are you from?”

“Far away. I believe I’ll go there now.”

“Fine,” Xanatos chuckled. “But before you do, I’d sincerely like to see if you still play the haughty prince when you’re cross-eyed and moaning on my hard cock.”

Kenobi made a shocked little noise in the back of his throat. He drew his robe closer around himself and lifted his chin. “Those lines might work on your misguided lovers back home, but I am not that desperate.”

“And that line might work on the average person, but you forget I can sense you in the Force. You feel a tad desperate there.” Xanatos said, his lip curling into a smile. “You really wanted him, didn’t you? I have too. But he’s untouchable, isn’t he? You can be closer to him than anyone and he’s still parsecs out of reach.”

Kenobi shook his head. “I don’t...want to talk about this with _you_.”

“I’m probably the only other person in the universe who can empathize with you. Besides, I didn’t really want to talk.” Xanatos said, trailing his hand along Kenobi’s shoulder. “Unless you like that sort of thing. But then, you probably don’t know _what_ you like.”

Kenobi looked unenthused, arms locked across his chest.

“Or you _do_ know, but you’re not sure the equipment will still cooperate?”

“You aren’t very talented in the realm of seduction, Xanatos.”

Xanatos calculated the risk, decided it was worth it to reach under Kenobi’s tabards and grasp the proof that maybe he was talented after all. 

Kenobi could have punched his teeth out, or knocked him back with a furious wave of the Force, or at least smacked Xanatos’s hand away. But he did none of those things. That was how Xanatos knew he would not be returning to the hotel alone. 

———


End file.
